


Equal Appetites

by psychthriller



Series: The Hungry Wolf [1]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: AFAB Bloodhound (Apex Legends), Animal Traits, Animalistic, Crushes, Desire, F/F, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Grief/Mourning, Hunters & Hunting, Insecurity, Jealousy, Loneliness, Masks, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Other, Predator/Prey, Revenge, Secret Crush, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, just FYI, rating will probably get raised to Explicit if I continue this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27837787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychthriller/pseuds/psychthriller
Summary: “Why do you not attack?” the hunter asks the she-wolf as she pulls them to their feet.The wolf shrugs. “You’re unarmed. It’s not a fair fight.”“You have fists, do you not?” they mutter, feeling irritable for reasons they cannot yet name.“That wouldn’t be very ladylike of me,” the wolf replies, examining her claws. “Besides, I’d hate to break a nail on that pretty face of yours.”What?--After an accident in the ring leaves Bloodhound unmasked, and one of Elliott and Ramya's bets go sideways, the hunter finds themselves in an unfamiliar position: for the first time in years, they are prey instead of predator.Bloodhounds may be excellent trackers, but they're not very useful in combat against wolves.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Loba, Bloodhound/Loba Andrade, Loba Andrade & Bloodhound, Loba Andrade/Bloodhound
Series: The Hungry Wolf [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037604
Comments: 18
Kudos: 88





	Equal Appetites

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, y'all. Holy fuck, sorry I've been gone so long. TBH, my life is a disaster rn - my elderly Dad and stepmom both have COVID, one of the in-laws was just diagnosed with cancer & needs major surgery, and probably TMI, but my relationship with my partner is...struggling, to say the least. As one can imagine, this makes writing happy stories about cute boys in love somewhat difficult. Rest assured I am still working on Spider Byte, but the last act of the story needs to be handled with care, not to mention the fact that I don't really write my best when I'm freaking out over IRL stuff, so it's not quite finished yet, but I'm getting there. I deeply apologize for the long wait, and I hope that, for the time being, this little Bloodhound/Loba fluff that popped out of me -- along with the next part of my Heat Exchange series, a new Rev/Reader fic, and the next chapter of Finish Him, which are all nearing completion and will be released in the coming weeks -- will be enough to hold you over until Spider Byte is finished. Thank you so much again for your support, feedback, and encouragement. This has been a hellish year for all of us, and writing has been such a positive, helpful outlet for me, so I want you guys to know that I mean it when I say I am humbled by the kindness of my readers and deeply grateful for each and every one of you.
> 
> Anyway, I was playing Bloodhound the other day and they had an awkward dialogue exchange with Loba where they sounded _very_ flustered and I'm probably reading too far into it but my gay ass was immediately like "Yup they're in love with her." So uh...here's this. Sorry there's no actual sex in this chapter.
> 
> Finally, I just wanna add that, based on what we saw in The Old Ways (Bloodhound's entry in the Tales from the Outlands video series), and on their voice actress, I have written Bloodhound as AFAB in this fic, and as far as sex goes, I'll be describing them in a way that implies they have female anatomy. Please don't jump down my ass about it. They gon' give Loba the strap eventually anyway so just...try not to crucify me. That said, this is my first time writing a gender-neutral character. I'm definitely interested in feedback from my readers, so just like with the Korean language/culture stuff in Spider Byte, if I fuck something up, don't hesitate to tell me in the comments, because my intention is never to offend. Also, if you want to fix my terrible Icelandic, knock yourself out. I'll take all the help my ignorant, English-speaking ass can get.

The hunter scrambles down the path to the enormous freighter. They are still unarmed, but so is their prey. The trail is still fresh -- a long strand of dark hair caught on the branch of a tree at the Oasis, blue nail polish scraped on a concrete wall near the Docks, a muddy, high-heeled bootprint on a ramp leading into the Arcadia.   
  
Blóðhundur darts into the giant freighter, where the trail leads them in a loop around the ship, then goes cold.   
  
_ Where are you, little úlfur? I know you are here somewhere… _ _  
_ _  
_ There’s a creak behind them, and they realize a moment too late that the clever little wolf has climbed atop a stack of crates arranged just beside the doorway they entered through. She must have looped around the freighter once before climbing to her perch, knowing who was on her trail.   
  
_ Clever. _

So clever, in fact, that the hunter doesn’t see it coming, and in a flash the wolf has pounced, pinning the hound to the floor beneath her freshly-manicured claws. Unlike her prey, she’s managed to procure a weapon -- likely by plucking it out of thin air with that interesting little thieving device concealed in her silver wolf’s-head cane. But despite having the upper hand and an R-99, the she-wolf is taking advantage of neither. Instead, she’s frozen above the hunter, her pretty features arranged in a surprised manner.   
  
It’s not until the wolf reaches out, stroking curious, clawed fingers over the scars marring the hunter’s face that they realize their mask has been knocked off, and currently lies out of reach on the ground several feet behind them. 

_ Skítt! _

The hunter’s body is covered in scars, as one might come to expect from someone who kills for a living. Every wound is a trophy, all of them mementos of hard-won battles against man and beast alike. But few besides the hunter’s feathered familiar have ever seen the thin web of scars that cover every inch of their face from throat to scalp; scars that spread out across the skin of their head, neck, and hands like cracks in a shattered pane of glass. Scars the hunter earned atoning for their sins by killing the beast that slaughtered the last of their family. The coolant had frozen the beast and saved the hunter’s life -- but it had nearly ended it as well, and they’d been lucky to escape the encounter with only some superficial wounds and frostbite. Frankly, they’d been lucky to escape at all.   
  
Almost all of the very few others who have actually laid eyes on the hunter’s scars have had the same reaction: surprise, promptly followed by either pity or revulsion -- often both. The shock is evident on the wolf’s face, but she doesn’t look disturbed. If anything, as she gently runs her fingertips along the hunter’s jaw, she looks almost...curious.   
  
Only a second has passed since the wolf knocked them to the ground, but it feels like time has slowed to a standstill. When their senses finally return to them, they take advantage of the wolf’s momentary shock, scrambling out from under her and away from those curious, manicured claws.

Blóðhundur frantically pulls on their mask, expecting any moment to feel a spray of bullets from the wolf’s weapon hit them in the chest. But when they peer at her through their tinted goggles, they’re surprised to see her weapon holstered. The hunter instinctively recoils when those shiny, lacquered claws come at them again...until they realize the wolf is trying to help them up.   
  
“Why do you not attack?” the hunter asks the she-wolf as she pulls them to their feet.   
  
The wolf shrugs. “You’re unarmed. It’s not a fair fight.”   
  
“You have fists, do you not?” they mutter, feeling irritable for reasons they cannot yet name.   
  
“That wouldn’t be very ladylike of me,” the wolf replies, examining her claws. “Besides, I’d hate to break a nail on that pretty face of yours.”

_ What? _   
  
The hunter’s heart is pounding even though the chase is over for now.

The wolf smiles with her strange, lovely mouth; a mouth that pierces armor using words instead of teeth. She saunters towards one of the many ramps leading to the docks, but stops short of crossing the threshold, then turns.

“Come find me when you’ve got a weapon, beautiful,” she purrs, shooting the hunter a mischievous grin. “But be careful. What’s that thing you’re always saying? Something about the hungry wolf always taking the win?”   
  
Blóðhundur swallows, nodding wordlessly.   
  
“Well you’d better watch out, hound,” the wolf warns them. “This wolf is _always_ hungry.”   
  
She winks, then pulls the bangle from her wrist and flings it out of sight, disappearing right along with it a split second later.

The hunter doesn’t move for a good long while, staring at the spot where the wolf had been standing moments before, willing their heart to stop slamming into their rib cage.

\---

“Okay  _ amigos,” _ Silva attempts to whisper discreetly, looking around to see if anyone’s listening and completely missing the fact that someone  _ obviously _ is. “So, what are we thinking? What’s she into?”

Witt strokes his beard, deep in thought. “I mean, for my sake, I hope it’s guys.”

Blóðhundur feels the sudden urge to punch a nearby decoy, but thinks better of it.

“I dunno, man,” Silva counters. “Her and Bangs were getting pretty cozy at your bar on Friday.”

The hunter begins sharpening their knife a little more aggressively than absolutely necessary.   
  
“Yeah, that’s a good point,” the holo-pilot agrees, looking a little forlorn. “Dangit, why do I always fall for women who are taken or gay? Or taken  _ and _ gay?”

“If it makes you feel better, you never had a shot either way, Witt,” says the tiny new girl, who appears to be madly in love with someone named Sheila.   
  
“That does  _ not _ make me feel better, Ram!” Witt groans, crossing his arms. “For real, though -- do we really think she’s gay? What’s the consensus here? I get like fifty dudes asking me for her number at the bar every night, I dunno whether to tell ‘em to fuck off ‘cause she likes girls, or get in line ‘cause she likes guys.”

“She’s bisexual,” the one with artificial skin announces quietly, out of absolutely nowhere.   
  
_ “What?” _ at least three people ask at the same time. Silva’s mouth is agape and Witt’s eyes are the size of a dinner plate.   
  
“What?” the hacker grumbles, narrowing his eyes at his teammates. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Dude, how do  _ you _ know she’s bi?” Witt asks eagerly, leaning over the table the drone pilot is currently seated at.

_ Yes, how indeed..? _ the hunter wonders, feeling their blood pressure begin to rise.   
  
The drone pilot rolls his eyes, pausing the incessant clacking of his metallic fingertips against his laptop’s keyboard for a moment. 

“Context clues,” he replies flatly, returning to whatever work he’s doing on the laptop.   
  
“You hacked her phone, didn’t you?” Witt hollers, sounding scandalized. “Crypto, you dirty dog!”   
  
_ “No,  _ I most definitely did  _ not  _ hack her--”

“Synth-skin’s right,” the homicidal Simulacrum declares, dropping down from the ceiling and scaring the living shit out of everyone, the stoic hunter included. “Andrade’s batting for both teams.”

“How does _ he _ know?!” Witt demands, shaking the hacker by the shoulder like he’s hoping a few more answers might fall out of the big white coat the man’s always hiding under.   
  
“I’m three-hundred fuckin’ years old, skinsuit,” the synth snaps at Witt. “I know a unicorn when I see one.”   
  
“I dunno if we should trust Señor Loincloth when it comes to matters of the heart, just sayin’,” Silva points out, chuckling to himself. “Maybe we should just wait and see, you know?”

“Or maybe you should go and  _ ask _ her instead of loudly speculating based on zero evidence,” Renee snaps, finally looking up from her e-reader for the first time all afternoon. “Just a thought.”

_ The sole voice of reason is the one they all think is insane. Of course. _

_ “OI! _ LOBA!” the tiny girl with the giant gun yells across the room, where the Legend in question is currently sitting, engrossed in conversation with the soldier -- who she does seem to be getting  _ awfully _ close with lately, especially considering the initial state of their relationship -- and carefully painting Wattson’s nails a lovely shade of electric blue.   
  
_ “Psst. _ Ah don’t think she meant you should ask her right now, dearie,” their newest addition (a time-traveling astronaut, naturally) whispers to Ramya -- but it’s too late.   
  
“What can I do for you, darling?” the wolf purrs, affixing a shiny little gem to the nail on Natalie’s ring finger with a pair of tweezers and some invisible adhesive -- presumably the same adhesive the hunter recently witnessed her selling to Witt in a rather large quantity for Allfather-knows-what purpose -- probably slathering the dropship’s toilet seats in it, or something equally peevish.

“Hey mate, settle a bet for us, would ya?” the tiny gun-toting girl replies.    
  
Renee and the drone pilot both pinch the bridge of their noses at precisely the same instant, sighing deeply. 

“Gladly,” the wolf agrees. “But I get 30% of the winnings.”

“Twenty-five,” the gun-toting  _ dverger _ counters without even blinking.   
  
The wolf narrows her eyes. “Twenty-seven.”   
  
“Sure, sure,” Ramya nods, waving her hand impatiently. “Witt and I are both flat broke anyway, twenty-seven percent of those five Apex Coins are all yours, cupcake.”   
  
“Deal. Now what’s this about a bet--?” Andrade asks, finally looking up from Wattson’s manicure, which, while lovely, is a great deal shorter and less sharp than the wolf’s own claws, which are now covered in shiny red lacquer. 

The hunter shivers when they recall how those claws had felt brushing against their skin -- against their  _ face _ \-- in the ring that afternoon.   
  
“I think you’re gay and Witt’s prayin’ you’re not,” Parekh answers bluntly. “And--”   
  
“Crypto and Rev are both on the fence because they have commitment issues,” Elliott finishes for her. “So they think you’re bi, but I--”   
  
“I do not have fuckin’  _ committment issues, _ skinsuit,” the Simulacrum snarls in the holopilot’s direction, sounding far more irritated by Witt’s idiotic joke than the hunter would have initially expected.

“Well you’ve got  _ some _ sort of issues, rustbucket,” the drone pilot mutters under his breath, even though the Spectre wasn’t addressing him in the first place.   
  
“I’ve got Daddy issues!” Pathfinder announces cheerfully.

Dead fucking silence.

“Ash told me that,” he elaborates.    
  
“Bruddah, I think she was right...”

“...keep running your mouth, synthskin,” the Spectre growls, turning back to the hacker and ignoring the MRVN’s little TMI outburst. “Pretty soon you’re gonna end up with some medical issues, you little--”   
  
_ “Hah! _ ‘Medical issues,’ says the man who’s had his brain floating in a glorified mason jar for the better part of three centuries,” sneers the  _ skúrkur _ with the gas barrels, adjusting his respirator. “Hypocrite.”   
  
“Yeah,  _ I’m _ the hypocrite,” the robot scoffs, crossing his arms. “Not the fifty-year-old criminal on the run who begged me to help him fuck over  _ another _ criminal on the run, some fuckin’ orphan kid who looks, like, eighteen, who you are now  _ defending _ by the way, you dumbass--”   
  
“I’m  _ thirty-one!” _ the hacker seethes, slamming both SynthSkyn-covered fists on the table.   
  
“Yeah you are, old man,” Elliott giggles, punching him in the arm. “Y-you guys knew that, right? That I’m--y’know, not-old…”   
  
“Wait, a criminal on ze run?” Natalie asks, looking concerned and no longer admiring her manicure. “What do you mean? Who eez--”   
  
“Nothing,” Caustic interrupts, shooting the Spectre a withering glare. “He means nothing.”

“Yeah,” Revenant agrees, voice dripping with disdain. “We’ll see who means nothing when I fuckin’ bury your asthmatic ass, you two-faced, fume-huffing  maniac--”   
  
**_“OI!_ ** WILL YA SHUT UP, THE LOT O’ YA?” the astronaut bellows, hovering over them via her gravity lift with her hands firmly planted on her hips. “Blimey, listenin’ to you  _ eejits _ argue is enough to give an AI a bloody headache!”   
  
“You have no idea how right you are, lady,” growls the Simulacrum.

“That goes for you too, metalmouth,” Somers snaps, jumping off the gravity lift and rounding on the Spectre, who has the good sense to take a step back.  _ “Zip it!” _   
  
“...yes ma’am,” the robot mutters, waiting until she turns her back before he shows the chemical warfare enthusiast his middle finger, which is returned by the noxious scientist with equal enthusiasm.   
  
“Now, for the love’a god, will ya let the woman speak?” Somers pleads, glaring at the rest of them. 

Finally, everyone is silent.

Somers turns to the wolf, who has thus far been quietly observing the social chaos with an amused twinkle in her eye. 

“Alright, dearie, we’re listenin’ -- assuming you still feel like gettin’ interrogated by these nosy twats, that is. What’ll it be then, darlin’ -- lads or lasses?”

To the hunter’s surprise, the wolf is making eye contact with them -- or would be, if not for the tinted goggles in their mask. They hold their breath, wondering why they even care what Andrade’s answer will be, seeing as they’ve never quite fallen firmly into either category when it comes to gender.   
  
“Well, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” Andrade replies, finally shifting her gaze toward their other team mates. “But if you must know...Elliott, Ramya darling -- you both lose. Or you both win, depending on how you look at it.” 

_ “Called it,” _ the Simulacrum growls at the same moment the hacker mutters  _ “Told you,” _ under his breath.

“Wait, what?” Witt asks in disbelief.

“I’m a maneater  _ and _ a ladykiller,” Andrade elaborates, looking rather pleased with herself. “So pay up, both of you.”   
  
“Aw, man,” Elliott groans, fishing around in one of his pockets for some spare AC. “That’s no fair, you’re not supposed to pick a third option!”   
  
The wolf smiles, meeting the hunter’s shielded gaze again and purring, “What can I say? I enjoy variety.”

She winks, and it suddenly feels as though the hunter’s heart and stomach have spontaneously swapped places.

“Well, I was half-right!” Witt declares half-heartedly. “At least I still have a chance!”   
  
“Trust me, Witt,” the soldier finally speaks up, looking genuinely irritated. “You could be the last penis in the whole damn Frontier and you’d still have no chance with her. Buzz off.”

A few people laugh. The hound glares down at their knife, suddenly realizing if it gets any sharper it’s liable to slice through the knife block itself.

_ Allfather, what is wrong with me today? _

But staring down at an over-sharpened blade is better than looking at the fierce, beautiful wolf. Something possessive and territorial flares up inside Blóðhundur when they watch the soldier make her smile. Some sort of dark, greedy thing; a thing that hungers like the  _ andskoti _ that hides beneath the Simulacrum’s metal shell. 

It scares the hound, and makes them glad they can’t see their own face reflected in the blade’s mirror finish, only their mask.

“You two have gotta stop making losing bets before you bankrupt each other,” Renee snickers, eyeing Witt and the new girl. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Witt mumbles, shoving some change into Loba’s outstretched claw.   
  
“Alright, losers,” Andrade announces with a smile. “Who’s up for a drink? Witt’s buying!”   
  
_ “No I’m not!!!” _   


  
\--   


  
Since it appears that Witt is, indeed,  _ not  _ buying, the hunter soon finds themselves fishing around for some pocket change of their own.   
  
“Here you go,” one of Witt’s holograms hums cheerfully, taking the AC from their gloved hand and pushing a funny-looking cocktail across the counter at them. “Enjoy!”   
  
This catches the real Elliott’s attention, who squints at the fruity drink in the hunter’s hand. It’s a glowing, neon pink concoction with a tiny purple umbrella and a pair of cherries skewered on a plastic sword sticking out of the top of the glass.

“Whoa, Bloodhound, I didn’t think you drank! Can’t believe you let this loser make your first drink,” he hollers, gesturing towards his holographic twin and slurring a little bit. “Also can’t believe your first drink is a freaking Paradise Punch.”

The holographic bartender rolls their eyes.   
  
“How d’you even drink through that mask,  _ amigo?” _ Silva asks. “No, really, I wanna know!”   
  
“How do  _ you _ drink through your mask?” the hunter growls back, vaguely wondering how everyone’s managed to get on their very last nerve in one single day.

“Oh, I just poked some holes in it,” Silva answers, stretching the bottom of his mask away from his face to display said holes.   
  
The hound is wondering why anyone without a face full of scars would bother poking holes in a mask instead of just taking it off to drink...until they look closer, noting the small strip of chin and mouth Silva just exposed are nearly as scarred up as the spot where his human legs meet hardware.   
  
_ Oh. _

_ The grenade-jump did more damage than I thought _ , the hunter muses, watching the field medic throw an arm around Silva. 

For some reason, watching them makes the awful, jealous demon inside the hunter rear its ugly head again. They turn away from the group, eager to escape to their favorite spot in the Paradise Lounge -- a secluded little corner table from which they can see all without being seen  _ by _ all. 

Just the way they like it.   
  
They stare down at the drink, which they never had any intention of imbibing, then gaze across the room where the wolf and the soldier are sitting side-by-side.  _ Again. _

Andrade is leaning against the soldier’s shoulder, playing cards with the hacker and another one of Elliott’s decoys. The wolf looks up, and the hunter once again feels grateful for the tinted lenses keeping her from seeing the look in their eyes.   
  
Staring back down at the drink, they sigh.   
  
_ This was foolish. What am I thinking? _

The bird perched on their shoulder squawks in agreement.

They’re soon so lost in thought that they don’t even notice Renee approaching until she’s right in front of them.   
  
“Hey,” she murmurs, taking a seat across from the hunter. “You doing okay?”   
  
“I am fine,” Blóðhundur lies. “Why do you ask?”   
  
“Just a feeling,” Renee replies. “Also, I come bearing unsolicited advice. So tell me to fuck off before I get the rest of this appletini in me if you don’t want to hear it.”   
  
Blóðhundur chuckles. “Speak freely, Renee. I welcome your advice.”   
  
The phase pilot beams, downing the rest of her appletini before depositing the empty glass on a hovering drink tray that floats by their table, affixed atop a drone -- no doubt one of the hacker’s recent efforts to improve the bar’s efficiency for the sake of Witt’s finances.   
  
It’s strange, the way the hacker goes out of his way to help the trickster, despite the fact that Elliott appears to get on the man’s very last nerve nearly every single time they interact. Blóðhundur wishes they could borrow a little of the hacker’s seemingly endless patience and his unflappable demeanor. The hunter has felt impatient all afternoon, and also very...flappable. Flustered, even.   
  
“So, you seem pretty flustered today,” Renee observes, like she siphoned the thought right from the hunter’s head without even noticing. “Am I right to assume it’s something to do with  _ hún-úlfur _ over there?” she asks, nodding towards Loba.   
  
_ How does she do that? _

“Is it truly that obvious?” the hound sighs, staring at their gloved hands for a moment, then pulling out their knife and beginning to fiddle with it anxiously. “I wear this mask for a reason, you know. Not all of us wish to wear our emotions on our sleeve.”   
  
Renee laughs. “No kidding. But nah, I only know the score because I walked in on -- well,  _ phased _ in on -- you & ‘she-wolf’ over there going at it in the dimension next door.”

The knife clatters to the ground.   
  
“You  _ what?” _ the hunter all but chokes.   
  
“Hey, keep it together,” Renee hisses, retrieving the knife from the floor and pushing it back across the table. “People are staring.”   
  
She’s right. When the hunter looks up, several curious pairs of eyes meet their begoggled gaze.   
  
“Apologies,” the hound mutters, taking the knife back and twirling it between their fingers, trying once again to calm their pounding heart. “You were saying?”

“Well, first of all, I totally don’t blame you because I would have ordered her the same thing, but Loba doesn’t drink this kind of stuff,” the all-knowing phase pilot gestures to the untouched Paradise Punch. “In fact--um, hold on a sec--”   
  
In an instant she’s opened a portal and snapped into the Void. Moments later, she returns with what appears to be a glass of white wine.   
  
_ “This, _ on the other hand, will win you some serious cool points with her, trust me,” Wraith explains, setting the wine down on the table next to the fruity cocktail.   
  
“What is it?” the hunter asks.   
  
_ Surely Elliott has plenty of white wine in stock, if that’s what she’s drinking. _   
  
_ “Vinho verde,” _ Renee answers. “A Portuguese favorite, according to my, uh, research.”   
  
_ “Vinho verde,” _ the hunter repeats in disbelief.  _ “‘Green  _ wine’?”   
  
Renee snorts. “Yeah, that’s what I said when I first heard it, too. But apparently its meaning is closer to ‘young wine.’ Something to do with the fermentation process or where the grapes are grown or something -- to be honest, I wasn’t really paying attention. Silva talks a lot.”

“...I see.”   
  
“Look, the point is, she’ll be impressed, trust me,” Renee assures the hunter, reaching down to snatch up the Paradise Punch from its spot on the table. “So if you don’t mind, I’m just gonna take this off your hands and--hey, don’t judge me, damn it. It’s not my fault these things taste awesome. Blame Elliott.”

She takes a large swig of the obnoxiously-pink drink, sighing contentedly.   
  
“Anyway, um, good luck,” she carries on. “Sorry if this was weird or whatever, in my defense, I was already drunk when I bumped into you guys getting, uh, friendly in that other dimension. I’m just trying to help.”   
  
She turns to leave, plucking the little purple umbrella out of her drink and sticking it into her bun, almost as if she wishes to signal to the rest of the room that her brain has gone on holiday. The hound doesn’t blame her. Frankly, after all the nonsense that’s gone down between everyone on the ship lately, the hunter could use a mental holiday, too.   
  
“Renee,” they call out before she can get out of earshot.   
  
The phase pilot turns around, returning to the hunter’s table. “What’s up?”   
  
“I...thank you.”   
  
She grins, giving the hunter’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Sure thing. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”   
  
_ Allfather bless this little vofa. _

She’s almost back to Elliott’s table when the hunter blurts out, _“Wait!”_   
  
Renee returns once again, this time looking curious and a little concerned. “Yeah?”  
  
Blóðhundur feels their face growing hot beneath their mask.  
  
“I am rather--er, curious to know what exactly you saw when you stumbled upon...whatever it was that you saw happening between us in the Void,” the hunter stammers, sounding nothing like themselves.  
  
_What are you doing, Blóðhundur? You have far more important things to focus your attention on now. You must not give in to distraction, you must--_  
  
“What, when I phased in on you guys?” Renee clarifies, looking a little red in the face. “Well, um...I mean, she was naked with your face between her thighs, if that’s what you’re asking.”

_ Fokk. _

It feels like the entire planet is rapidly tilting on its axis. The beast inside is all but salivating with hunger now. The hunter swallows thickly, attempting to choose their next words with care.   
  
“How did--er, what makes you so sure it was I who you saw engaging in...that?”   
  
_ Well said, hálfviti,  _ the hound thinks miserably.  _ You sound like a fífl. _

Renee rubs the back of her neck, suddenly looking a bit flustered herself.   
  
“The mask was off -- um, obviously -- but your back was to me, so I couldn’t see your face,” she admits. “Not that I’d have recognized it if I did, I’ve only seen it that one time you showed me.”   
  
_ Of course. So it could have been anyone. _

“But I mean...she was basically screaming  _ “Fuck, Bloodhound!” _ and a bunch of other stuff in Portuguese that I couldn’t really understand, and  _ whoever  _ was going to town on her kept growling shit in Icelandic, so  _ yeah,  _ Blood, I’m pretty damn sure it was you,” the phase pilot says flatly.

The hunter struggles -- and fails -- to find any words.

_ Allfather save me, guð minn góður… _

“C’mon,” Renee urges them, picking up the green-wine-that-isn’t-really-green and setting it down right in front of them. “Take her this drink and go flirt with her a little. Think of this as a little ‘gift from the Allfather’ or whatever you call it when a care package drops right when we need it. Take advantage of it, ‘cause the window of opportunity is gonna be closing soon if Anita has her way.”   
  
The hungry, jealous beast inside the hunter nods their head, rising from the table with drink in hand to carry the hound in the direction of the wolf.

“Hey,” Renee stops them before they get very far. “Tell her there’s a bottle of this  _ vinho verde  _ stuff in your room if she wants a refill.”   
  
The hunter furrows their brow, puzzled. “But--”   
  
“It’s on your desk, sorry for phasing in without asking. Couldn’t resist,” the phase pilot explains with a mischievous grin so similar to Witt’s that the hunter can’t help but chuckle. “Anyway, have fun!”

“May the gods bless you,  _ lítið vofa,” _ Blóðhundur says earnestly. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Renee’s smile widens. “You got it.”

  
\--   


  
The hunter makes their way across the bar, stopping near the wolf’s table. But both the wolf and the soldier’s seats are empty now. She’s gone home...likely with the woman who’d been sitting next to her.   
  
_ Renee was right about that window of opportunity, _ Blóðhundur thinks, dejected.  _ I’ve missed my chance. _ _  
_   
Eager to escape the prying eyes of their teammates, the hunter wanders up the stairs and out the door onto the patio, where they’re surprised to discover that they aren’t the only one who wants a moment alone. The wolf stands at the end of the patio, elbows leaning on the railing of the second-floor balcony and gazing down at the street below, with the soldier nowhere in sight.

_ Oh. She’s here after all. _   
  
The hound moves quietly, in the hopes of not startling her, but she still startles the moment they’re close enough for her to sense their presence. She whirls around with a gasp, looking genuinely shocked for a moment before her fair features return to a neutral position.

_ You are so beautiful, _ the hunter thinks distantly.  _ Svo fallegt. _   
  
“Shit, don’t scare me like that,” the wolf scolds them, letting out a sigh of relief. “Thought you were the damn  _ demonio _ for a second.”   
  
_ Gods, I might be. _

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the hunter says softly, staring at their feet and wondering why this woman scares them more than any monster they’ve ever faced in combat or on the hunt. “I just wanted to...er, here. Take this.”

The wolf cracks a smile when she sees the offered wine, accepting with a graceful nod.    
  
“What a lovely surprise,” she purrs. “Thanks, beautiful.”   
  
_ The pleasure is all mine, beautiful… _   
  
The hunter nods silently, watching as the wolf takes a sip of their gift. As she does, her eyes go wide, and after swallowing a mouthful of wine she gasps,  _ “Vinho verde?  _ How did you get this? I haven’t been able to get my hands on any since I got to Solace!”   
  
Behind their mask, the hunter smiles. “I had some help.”   
  
_ “Mmmm,”  _ the wolf hums, expression blissful as she takes another sip. “Well, thank you. It’s one of my favorites. You know, it’s a shame we didn’t run into each other for the rest of the match today. I was rather looking forward to your next attempt at hunting me down.”   
  
_ “Attempt?” _ the hound can’t help but take the bait. “I successfully tracked you down already, if memory serves.”   
  
“Yes,” Andrade purrs, turning to face the hunter and resting a hip against the balcony’s railing. “But I still came out on top in the end, didn’t I?”   
  
The hunter sighs, grateful that their blushing face is hidden by a mask. “Yes, I suppose you did.”   
  
“I didn’t mind,” the wolf goes on, taking a step toward the hunter. “I’m used to being on top.”   
  
There’s that wicked little wink again. The hunter feels their heart skip.   
  
“You might have to get used to being on the bottom from time to time if we meet when I’ve had a chance to procure a weapon,” the hound replies before they can stop themselves. “Not all of us can pull them out of thin air, I’m afraid.”   
  
The she-wolf laughs. “Well, I don’t always have to end up on top. I’m...flexible.”

_ Flexible in more ways than one, I expect… _

“We are not talking about the Games anymore, are we?” Blóðhundur growls, taking a step towards the wolf.   
  
She smiles with those shiny white teeth, closing the rest of the distance between them. The hunter gasps when the wolf’s fierce claws come up to gently stroke one side of their face -- even though the mask still blocks them from truly feeling her touch.   
  
“Am I ever going to see that pretty face of yours again?” the  _ fallegur úlfur _ asks, gazing into the hound’s eyes almost as though she can see right through the mask’s goggles.    
  
“That depends, hungry wolf,” growls the beast inside the hunter. “Do you actually eat your food, or do you simply enjoy playing with it?”

_...did I say that aloud? _

The she-wolf is laughing again, but before the hunter can ask why, one of her claws is wrapping around their gloved hand and pulling them even closer -- so close they can feel the warmth of her body through their thick leather armor.   
  
“Aw, that’s cute,” the wolf purrs before swallowing another sip of her wine, then laying a hand on the hunter’s chest. “Don’t you worry, beautiful. If you let me, I’ll eat you alive.”   
  
_ Fokk fokk fokk, what am I doing? _ the hunter thinks nervously, desperately trying to un-glue their eyes from the wolf’s head tattoo that’s inked into the skin on the right side of Andrade’s elegant neck...and also attempting not to think about how badly they want to feel that skin beneath their scarred lips.

_ She looks so soft... _   
  
And even though they know they shouldn’t play with dangerous animals, the hunter strokes a gloved thumb over the back of the wolf’s hand, and then the hungry beast hidden within them speaks aloud once more.   
  
“There’s a bottle of that wine in my room, if you wish to have another glass.”

The hound holds their breath, awaiting her answer.   
  
“That sounds like a lovely idea,” the she-wolf replies, gazing up into the hunter’s masked eyes with a look on her face that’s positively wicked. “Tell you what -- how about you grab that bottle and meet me on my ship?”   
  
“Y-your ship?”

_ This was unwise. You sound like a hálfviti. _   
  
Andrade nods. “I know you like your privacy. And if you’re half as loud in the bedroom as you are when your ult activates, we’re going to need that sound insulation.”   
  
_ Gods help me… _

_ I’m going to make an utter fool out of myself. _   
  
Andrade winks, but then her amused expression softens into something else...concern?

“I’m just playing with you, beautiful,” the she-wolf explains. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We don’t have to do anything at all, actually. I’d just like to take advantage of the opportunity to get to know the most mysterious Legend on the ship.”   
  
Blóðhundur laughs. “I am the mystery? Not our friend with the drone?”   
  
_ “Pfft, _ Par--er,  _ Kim _ \--is a man. He’s an open book like all the rest of them, in part because he doesn’t have the good sense to hide that expressive face of his behind a mask. He’s no mystery,” Andrade replies, rolling her eyes.  _ “You _ on the other hand -- you are an enigma. You’ve been here longer than most, but your team mates don’t appear to know you any better than I do.”   
  
“And this...you find this quality...attractive?” the antisocial hunter asks in disbelief.

“Why wouldn’t I?” the wolf purrs, lacing her manicured fingers between the hunter’s gloved digits. “You’re different. Unique. Unapologetically... _ you. _ A very rare find in a world full of fools who live only to gain the approval of others. You live your life your way, on your terms, and you aren’t afraid to show it. I like that, even if it means I don’t get to see that pretty face of yours as often as I’d like.”   
  
There's that phrase again, _'pretty face.'_ The hunter’s mind is spinning, high on flattery and nerves and...something else. Something slightly scary.   
  
“You’re not afraid to be who you are, and you’re not seeking anyone else’s approval, either,” the she-wolf continues, leaning in close enough that the hunter would feel her breath against their ear, were that ear not covered by a thick layer of prowler leather. “So  _ yes,  _ darling, you are a mystery. And frankly, you fascinate me.”   
  
The hunter is silent for a long, long time. When they finally find the words to speak, their voice is shaking.   
  
“I cannot...I am--” Blóðhundur stops, sighing, then trying again. “I have never been known as one who is fond of...intimacy. Even among my people, I was considered...colder than most.”

“If you don’t wish to be touched, I won’t touch you,” Andrade replies. “Simple as that. And you don’t have to touch me, either. Come on, I don’t bite! We can just talk.”   
  
“But I  _ want _ to touch you.”

The words tumble from the hunter’s lips before they can stop them. Silence follows.   
  
“Oh really?” the she-wolf finally asks, grinning with all of her teeth.   
  
Blóðhundur nods, blushing furiously.    
  
“You are so…” the hunter trails off, genuinely lost for words for a moment. “So stunning. Such a beauty. I know you are fully aware of this. But I am not…”   
  
They pause again, then let out a frustrated sigh before continuing.   
  
“You... _ ert sýn fegurðar, _ a vision of loveliness. But I am, erm--let us say that the Allfather has not blessed me with a fine form…”   
  
“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” the wolf replies, sounding skeptical. “Every inch I’ve seen of your form has been--well,  _ ‘fine’ _ is an understatement.”   
  
Things have grown so hot beneath the hunter’s mask that they’re nearly tempted to remove it. But they don’t, of course, because everyone is there, and because the wolf clearly doesn’t understand what the hunter is attempting to convey, so--   
  
“So you want to touch and be touched,” Andrade clarifies, continuing only after the hound has nodded in affirmation. “But you don’t want to be  _ looked at. _ Yes?”   
  
The hunter nods again.

_ Perhaps she understands after all. _

“Well, the solution is obvious,” the she-wolf declares.   
  
_ Yes, _ the hunter thinks.  _ The solution is you find another partner, one more worthy of your affection, attention, and boundless beauty. The soldier, for example. _

Andrade smiles, giving the hunter’s gloved hand a reassuring squeeze.

“The solution is you blindfold me, beautiful.”

The knife the hunter has been fidgeting with in their free hand suddenly clatters to the ground.

_ “What?” _   
  
“You heard me,” the wolf purrs with a wicked grin, leaning in to press a kiss to her prey’s leather-covered cheek. “Listen -- there’s no pressure, okay? If you’re not interested, that’s fine -- I promise I’ll only be a  _ little  _ offended.” She winks. “But if you  _ are _ interested...then meet me at the docking bay in 30.”   
  
The hunter nods wordlessly, watching the beautiful wolf walk away and still trying to decide if this is actually happening in real life, or in their dreams.

The  _ fallegur úlfur _ stops just before re-entering the bar, instead turning on her heel and locking eyes with the hunter. She downs the rest of her wine in a single gulp.   
  
“I  _ will  _ be offended, however, if you show up without bringing the rest of this fantastic wine,” the wolf says with a mischievous grin.   
  
The hunter nods. “Consider it yours.”

“Why thank you -- though I must say, I can think of a few other things I’d like to have in my mouth more than this admittedly-delicious wine,” the she-wolf purrs, licking her lips and shooting the hunter another flirty little wink. “What? I told you I was hungry.”

_ Oh gods… _

Andrade turns, heading back inside after yelling  _ “See you in the shuttle bay, beautiful!” _ over her shoulder at the hunter.

“Yes,” the beast inside them replies quietly, even though the wolf has already gone. “See you there.” 

_You are not the only one with a voracious appetite, little wolf._   


\---

To Be Continued(?)

**Author's Note:**

> So what do we think, ladies and germs? Do we want more of this or nah? Bloodhound is super hard to write for me, because despite the fact that we now know their history, they're still very quiet and everything about them is so damn mysterious that it's hard to get a feel for their thought processes and dialogue, even with the glimpses we get from their POV in some loadscreens. But with Spider Byte, I can very easily and comfortably slip into Tae Joon/Elliott/Renee/Rev's shoes and write dialogue that really reads like something they'd say. So Bloodhound is gonna take a bit of practice, Loba is a little easier, but both of them could use some work, dialogue-wise, IMO. So don't worry, I'm already aware and I'm workin' on it.
> 
> Also, if the thing about Loba selling Elliott invisible glue didn't make sense to you, just wait 'til you get to the loadscreen with Elliott and Tae Joon from this season's battlepass. Read the description and the reference in this story will (hopefully) make sense. (Also I'm like...really tempted to write a oneshot about Crypto finally having enough of this shit and starting a prank war with Elliott that ends in -- and I know this will surprise some of you -- sex. :P Ugh, I love those two.)
> 
> I hope you're all doing well, my lovelies. I know this has been a hellish year for us all, but there's hope on the horizon, so hang in there. Hope your Holo-days are as happy as they can be, given the circumstances. When life gets you down, try to picture Revenant in a Santa costume. Where do I sign up to sit on Bone Daddy's lap? Hnnng. Can you imagine him loudly clanging about as he comes flying out of your fireplace -- which, naturally, is still lit -- and demanding cookies once he finishes extinguishing the flames? Lmao, I need help.
> 
> P.S.: RIP Boyfriend Boat ;-; Press F in the comments to pay respects.


End file.
